


Shadows

by Angelicasdean



Category: Red Dead Redemption (Video Games)
Genre: Angst and Tragedy, Canonical Character Death, Chapter 6: Beaver Hollow (Red Dead Redemption 2), Ghosts, High Honor Arthur Morgan, Hurt No Comfort, Major Spoilers, Me just hating on dutch lowkey, Originally Posted on Tumblr, SO, except maybe in the end, i am just a sad writer writing sad things, little comfort??
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-23
Updated: 2019-11-23
Packaged: 2021-02-25 22:28:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,969
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21532990
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Angelicasdean/pseuds/Angelicasdean
Summary: It was sudden, the change.At first…He saw him once, spotted out of the corner of his eyes, and almost had an entire goddamn heart attack.
Relationships: Arthur Morgan & Van der Linde Gang
Comments: 13
Kudos: 126





	1. Chapter 1

It was sudden, the change.

At first…

He saw him once, spotted out of the corner of his eyes, and almost had an entire goddamn heart attack.

He didn’t look dead, didn’t look angry, he looked… Normal.

Hosea stood, leaning against a tree, a cigarette in his hand, smoke trailing off into the air. He smiled at Arthur, raised the cigarette and took another breath in. Arthur stared, wide-eyed just like a startled deer, disbelieving.

He would have stared for the rest of the day, if his eyes hadn’t burned so badly. Between one blink and another, Hosea disappeared, and Arthur was left with bewilderment jumping around his mind.

He went on with his day, chalked it up to the lack of sleep he’d been getting.

The next time something happened, he’d been staring at the stew pot, trying to decide if it’s a good idea to use the spoons and bowls used by everyone else. Things might be tough, Javier and Bill don’t trust him anymore, Joe and Cleet always mock him, and Micah’s is a prick as always but…

He can’t risk it, can’t give anyone else the disease that’d been eating him for so long.

Just when he looks up, he catches his frame, sitting beside John, leaning on his elbows and staring at the fire, but its flames don’t illuminate his face like it’s doing to John’s.

As if sensing his gaze, Lenny looks up, eyes dark but calm, innocent and gleaming just as they had when he was alive. He raises a hand, waving at Arthur with a small smile.

Arthur freezes, watching, waiting, afraid to blink. Lenny stretches back, like he isn’t dead, like Arthur hadn’t watched him get shot down, and stands. Arthur watches him, tries to spit something that would make it clear that he was truly seeing him, his ghost.

“Arthur?” Tilly calls, and Arthur jumps, having lost himself staring at Lenny. Instinctively, he turns, only glancing at Tilly before his eyes sprint back to where Lenny was.

Where he isn’t anymore.

Arthur blinks, looking back at Tilly, who’s gaze if concerned. He shakes his head and turns towards his horse, deciding that he was turning insane.

Three days after, Arthur found himself between a pile of bodies, after naively taking a drink from a creepy couple. And goddamn it did they have to be incestuous as well as cannibals?

He’s sticky with blood from various bodies and stinking of decomposing bodies. He pulls himself from the grave, finds that they’d taken his guns as well as money, not that he expected any less. One does not just drug a man and dump him between rotting bodies for shits and giggles.

He whistles for his horse, hopes that she’s followed his scent, that she’s at least close enough to hear him. After a few seconds, Arthur hears the comforting beats of her hooves, and Shams appears from between the trees, shaking her head and sniffing him before letting Arthur pet her.

He almost melts into her, hugging her around the neck. She’d been with him through this entire shitshow, after Boadicea, she was his favorite. If nothing else, he can depend on her.

He retreats his repeater and revolver from her saddle and makes his way to the damned house. If they’re lucky and not dumb, they’ll have fled, but he doubts that. Their tricks would never have worked on someone smarter or less trusting than Arthur.

Then again, they did have a grave full of bodies…

He doesn’t bother to knock or pull up his bandana. Almost breaks down their door, finding the husband first and before he can even pull out his gun, shoots him in the face and gut. Just to make sure.

The wife runs down the stairs, frazzled and with a knife, and he doesn’t hesitate to shoot her twice in the chest. He didn’t usually kill ladies, but for people like them, he doesn’t really care, won’t spare any tears.

Done, and anger dwindling down into embers, Arthur’s turns to search the house, they’d stolen a good five hundred dollars off of him, and his guns were almost three hundred dollars each.

He almost jumps out of his skin when he finds him standing there, looking quizzically at a book, trying to read the title. His freckles still contrasted on his skin, and his red hair still fell over his shoulders, bright as the day they’d met. Bowler hat still ugly, too.

Sean looks at him, green eyes bright as his mouth forms into a crooked smirk, raising the book “Look, I managed to read ‘adventures’, good, eh, English?” Arthur sputters, mouth working several times to form something. Aside from that the book had a completely different title, none of them spoke to him before, and all be managed was a croaked:

“Yeah?” before Sean placed the book on the shelf again, shrugging a shoulder.

Shams neighs outside and Arthur glances out of the window, knowing that Sean won’t be there when he looks back. He doesn’t, keeps his head low as he finds his guns where the book had been placed, grabbing them and leaving the house. For all he cares, Dutch won’t notice the five hundred dollars that never entered his pocket, doesn’t seem to notice much these days.

Arthur returned to camp, sullen and angry, having just blown up a bridge for no reason that makes sense. He can feel his heart squeeze at the realization of how truly Dutch is gone, he’d known for a while but it had just sunken in. Javier throws him a glance, and Bill squints at him but they’ve stopped their berates, so that’s a plus.

His tent is still closed from yesterday when a chilly night left him shivering even with his thickest coat on. He throws it open carelessly, and almost glances over him, but the brown fur catches his eyes.

Cain had disappeared a few days, he remembers.

Cain didn’t have brown fur.

Arthur blinks, his heart squeezing again as Copper sits up, dark eyes staring up at him, mouth almost in a smile, tongue sticking out as his tail wags rapidly.

He has the urge to sink to his knees and hug the dog right then and there, but he knows he’ll be disappointed if he does.

He takes off his satchel, instead, and toes off his boots. He sits on the bed, and Copper moves to stand in front of him, he looks there. Arthur is tempted to reach out for him, can feel tears prickling at the back of his eyes. 

Copper wags his tail, and Arthur smiles down at him, despite his mind telling him not to, he reaches out to touch Copper’s head. 

Copper melts into the touch, but Arthur can’t feel the soft hairs against his palm or the firmness of Copper’s head. It’s just air.

With a sigh, he squeezes his eyes shut and lays back into his cot. Doesn’t bother checking if Copper is still here, knowing that his mind won’t be so kind as to let him keep hallucinating his presence. 


	2. Chapter 2

Waterlogged and cold, Arthur shakes his hair, splashing water all around him. His lungs are burning as he coughs up the bloody water that choked him. The river wasn’t kind to him, and it had shown enough that Dutch, even in the confused state he’d been in for the past month, had told him to _rest_.

He wishes for nothing more than rest, but there are dues to be met, and his own might be sooner than he’d imagined. He perches himself under the sun, laying his head on his satchel and staring at the pale blue sky. He doesn’t know where Shams ended up, hopefully somewhere safe.

His mind doesn’t get to wonder much, a sharp neigh tempting him to lift his head and peak. Shams was loyal and strong and _intelligent beyond belief._ But there is no way she could’ve followed him this far. Arthur blinks, the sun glaring right into his iris as the soft clop of hooves get ever closer.

There’s fear thrumming under his skin but if it’d been a bounty hunter or a military officer, he’d be shot already. No, as the large head of an ebony black mare bobs into his vision, his heart stammers in his chest.

Her blue eyes gaze down on him, sharp as she’d always been, blinking with little care. Relaxed, that’s what Boadicea was, her mane still clean as Arthur always had been diligent about. Her tail swishing behind her.

Boadicea huffs, bowing further down to bump her nose to his chest. Maybe it had been his striving imagination, his hope, or simply his faltering sanity; but he could _almost_ feel the weight on his chest. His shoulders relax, he hadn’t noticed how tense he had been until Boadicea’s touch made him melt into the ground.

He hadn’t seen anyone, or anything in a few weeks now, ever since he’d ruffled Copper’s fur. Boadicea’s presence had always calmed him, the mare he’d had for well over a decade, she’s as close to home as a horse could be. Even when things got tough with Hosea and Dutch, even when his world chattered around him when he lost his son, even when Mary kicked him out of her life like the mutt he was in her eyes.

Boadicea was always there to carry him, never let him down, never left him behind.

He missed her. So, so much.

He closes his eyes, letting the faint feeling of her cold nose ghosting around his torso to lull him into sleep.

Fort Wallace was illuminated by the glow of lanterns, and Arthur was suppressing the fire in his lungs in favor of digging an arrow through a guard’s skull.

His hand has started to shake, arms getting weaker as his lungs slowly deprecate. He told Charles as much, told him he should ask John to help get Eagle Flies back rather than him. Charles didn’t budge, and here they were.

His shots are sloppy, but they do the job. Charles always there to comfort him, telling him that he’s doing well. They’re just scaling down the wall, Arthur hanging back as Charles leads them when he spots them.

They’re staring at him, pale skin and bright blond hair stark against the darkness of Fort Wallace. He freezes, just as Charles starts to speak to him.

Isaac is holding his mama’s thumb, face half-hidden behind her arm, shy as he always was. Blue eyes wide in worry, and once he notices that he’s got Arthur’s attention, he looks up at Eliza. Arthur follows his gaze, Eliza’s face hidden partially behind her hair, which was blowing in the wind.

She raises a hand, giving a slight wave before a heavy hand lands on Arthur’s shoulder and Charles forces him to look at him.

“Arthur, are you listening to me?” Charles whispers, frustration tight in his voice but eyes filled with worry as Arthur shakes his head, “never mind, you wait here, I’m going to start a fire to distract the rest.”

Charles leaves him hidden between barrels and Arthur’s eyes dart back towards where they’d been, forcing the tears to remain safely behind his eyelids as the sound of fire erupting spring him to action.

He’d broken the last of Dutch’s trust, he can feel it. No matter that Arthur’s cause was not in any way to harm Dutch’s plans, Dutch no longer trusts him.

“We’re riding with you,” Charles says, Sadie, John behind him. Arthur blinks at them, eyes going wide when he finds that it’s no longer only the three of them.

Silver Dollar, Maggie, and Innus hold their riders, all glowing faintly in the sun as Dutch and the rest ride away. Mac, Davey, Jenny are all on their mounts, looking at him with the same look the living are.

Something twists in his lungs, a small cough escaping him as he barrels forward, urging the others to follow. Living, and dead.

The fight is nasty, unwinnable, foolish to even start. His lungs burn as he shoots men down one after another, breath caught in his throat as he runs and runs. He lost sight of Eagle Flies, but not his purpose.

He spots Dutch, follows him as men fall down like flies; native and guards alike.

He ducks behind a barrel, Dutch greeting him with a seething cold anger as Eagle Flies emerges. “Quite the hero, ain’t ya, Arthur?”

Arthur glances at him, replying coldly as Dutch questions him.

“I don’t get you, not anymore,” Arthur admits, hurt hidden well behind the wall of anger he’d piling up. At the corner of his eye, he sees Hosea lean against the brick building.

“Oh, the doubting,” Dutch says, and Arthur looks away, Hosea giving him a sad look and a shake of his head, “Come on, let’s go finish things,” Dutch stands, leaving Arthur to follow.

“Finish what?” Arthur asks, standing too, eyes switching from Hosea to Sean, who’s got his rifle slung over his shoulder, just like that fateful day,

“The doubts!” Dutch booms again, and Arthur nearly flinches, if he weren’t so busy looking at the circle of ghosts that surround them. Blinking, they don’t disappear anymore, and he wonders if he’d lost the last bits of his sanity during the fight.

It was all his plan, Arthur discovers, Dutch throwing the natives in deep water, encouraging this _mess_ this _bloodbath._ Playing with Eagle Flies’ anger, manipulating him… all for some _state bonds._

It’s all down to his luck that while escaping, a pipe decides to blow straight into his face. Scorching his skin and swamping his weak lungs as he falls back, coughing, blinded and blinking and unable to defend himself.

The guards weren’t even kind enough to want to imprison him, one straddling him and trying to force a knife deep into his throat. He calls for Dutch, eyes bleary as his arms weaken under the pressure of the knife. He blinks wildly, straining his neck to spot Dutch, turning away…

Leaving him to die.

Arthur falters, just for a moment, spotting Hosea staring in distress, looking between Arthur and where Dutch once was.

This was it; Arthur was convinced, this is how he was going to die. Abandoned like a wounded mutt, stabbed in the throat by a guard after the man who promised him everything, left him with nothing.

Before Arthur gave up, Eagle Flies busts in, shooting both men and helping him up.

He wasn’t fast enough, now, as he hears Rains Fall wail about his last son, dead.

Charles gives him an understanding look as Arthur leans against Shams, “What…what are they going to do now?” Arthur asks, closing his eyes as Charles places a gentle hand on his back.

“they must move…” he replies, “and fast…” Guilt is spreading wide across his chest, suffocating him worse that his illness.

If he was just stronger, just a bit faster…

These people wouldn’t have lost so much. Eagle Flies would be alive.

They’ve lost their land, their men, their Chief’s son. Everything.

Arthur sniffs, holding back all the emotions threatening to break him as Charles continues, “I’ll stay and help them,” a chance, not to redeem himself this time. They’d lost so much, Arthur has broken his only promise to Rains Fall.

“I’ll stay too,”

Charles knows though him better than he knows himself, with one soft expression, Charles shoots down his offer, “You have others that need you,” the tribe may survive.

The gang wouldn’t.

Twenty years.

Arthur has known Dutch twenty years. Dutch didn’t seem to care about what Arthur sacrificed during those years for him, his gun still points at Arthur and John. His two sons, his two protégés.

Arthur wishes Hosea, or his ghost, was here. If he were to be shot down by Dutch’s hands, he wants to know that at least one of his fathers truly loved him.

Grimshaw is dead, the fact burning a hole through Arthur’s skull as her wails die down into nothing, one croak and then silence.

He tells himself he’s done all he can.

It wasn’t enough. He wished, he _hoped_ to kill Micah before his last breath escapes him. But Dutch stopped him, thinking that this was just another fight… oh, how he was wrong.

Anger that had been fueling Arthur burns into nothing, leaving him empty with betrayal as he tries, with his last wheezing breath to explain to Dutch. Hoping, _hoping still_ that the man he knew, who he _thought_ he knew was still somewhere.

Dutch gives him one long, sad, _mournful_ look before removing his foot from Arthur’s broken finger. The strength Arthur had used to crawl and grab the gun had evaporated, leaving him almost paralyzed as he wheezes “John made it,” Arthur says, and he hopes the idea burns Dutch like he hopes it does. Hopes Dutch sees that he lost _both_ sons, but only one was dead… dying.

Dutch leaves him there, Micah letting out a howl of a scream before stomping off… and Arthur finds a small delight in discovering that the sky… it’s brightening.

Little strength, that’s all he needs, forcing his muscle to help him crawl onto the ledge, relaxing as the sun peaks over the hill. Something warm grasps his hand, and he blinks.

His chest is light as he spots Hosea kneeling beside him, smiling down sadly, and comfortingly wrapped around Arthur’s as slowly, one by one, all his ghostly visitors pile behind Hosea. The sun crowns them all, making them look angelic the last painful gasp leaves his lips.

Gracefully, Hosea pulls him up, and he doesn’t need to look back to know that he’s no longer in his body.

**Author's Note:**

> Tumblr is Samwrittenbysam!! Send prompts/asks if you want :D


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